Someday At Christmas (There'll Be No Wars)
by eternal-state-of-voorpret
Summary: It's a long, arduous way to Christmas trees and homemade pudding and hand picked gifts, but in the end, it's a trek well worth its weight in gold. Six Christmases, mapping a seemingly impossible journey backwards.


**It's embarrassingly late for a Christmas fic, but isn't Christmas all year long** _ **anyway**_ **? This is a (back-up) Secret Santa gift for the lovely** pm-patata (or Meg) **on Tumblr (btw, whose art is amazing and you should check out). Hope you enjoy this, sorry it was hurried!**

* * *

 _Someday at Christmas there'll be no wars  
When we have learned what Christmas is for  
When we have found what life's really worth  
There'll be peace on earth_

 _Someday all our dreams will come to be  
Someday in a world where men are free  
Maybe not in time for you and me  
But someday at Christmastime_

—Stevie Wonder, _Someday At Christmas_

* * *

 **6**

Over the years, Christmas had worn down into something monotonous and stressful. A chore like any other, with items and errands to be ticked off from a never ending list. Gifts for their kids and endless supply of (some official, some unofficial) nieces and nephews, dinner to be cooked, house to be decorated. Cards to be sent, stockings to be stuffed, carols to be played. A chore that brought back results weight their worth in gold, but a chore nonetheless.

Nico would not give it up for anything.

So what if Will or him had forgotten a gift on their children's wish-list and had to go to the mall on Christmas Eve? The mad rush—totally worth it if it meant seeing their kids' faces light up on Christmas morning. So what if they were ready to drop at the end of cooking a five course meal? So worth the laughter that followed at dinner with their friends. So what if they couldn't sweep all the tinsel dropping out of the nooks and corners of the house even for months after Christmas? It'd just stay there till the next one, or (more likely) till they died.

Christmas was no longer a chore. It was a two man affair. A quiet dinner followed by snuggling up on the couch to watch Christmas classics to while away the night. A lunch where their kids tromped home, bringing their spouses or significant others or kids. It meant comfort and familiarity and easy boredom of a settled life. A night where they slept easy.

Yeah, Nico loved it. How could he have not, after all they'd given to get there, the sweet life of monotony and kids and jobs and painless Christmases?

* * *

 **5**

"The kids don't need these many things," Will said. He looked as harried as Nico felt. "No, but in all honesty, what are they going to _do_ with this? Why does Franca require a toolset and what job does Sam need firefighter jacket for? What happened to a box of LEGO or an ant farm?"

"Oh, there all in there alright." Nico scanned the shopping list he'd scribbled on a post it. "Along with a set of gardening tools—but I think that might be for Marisol—"

"Becca," corrected Will. "I'm sure. Hazel was telling me about her new obsession with gardening."

"Granddaughter of Hades has an affinity for flowers." Nico grinned. Well, more like grimaced. "Gods, Persephone must be having a field day."

Will smirked at him. "Still scared of her?"

Nico, because he was a mature adult who enjoyed the finer things at life, stuck his tongue out at his husband as he pushed the shopping cart onto the next aisle. They still had to get Barbies for Austin's twins, and he wanted to get out of here before the rush hour began.

"Do you think the kids will forgive me if I forego everything on this list and just buy them a puppy?" Will asked.

"The kids might, I wouldn't." Nico paused. "Not until after we move into the new house, we agreed on that. Now c'mon Solace, soldier on. We've got five more gifts to go, and an hour before this place turns to hell."

"I would prefer Hell, actually." Will sighed. "But as lovely a prospect it is to spend Christmas with your father and step-mom, you're right. Let's get this over with."

It took them roughly an hour and twenty minutes, which meant the rush hour began, and Nico couldn't breathe in the gift wrapping line, at least not properly. But the ticked off list was a Christmas miracle in its self, the first time they'd managed to pick up all the gifts before the 23rd, and even though their kids' delighted faces were the best thing to come from the shopping excursion, the list that Will framed to put above the mantle was a close second.

* * *

 **4**

"So, if we forego a turkey and buy two chickens, _and_ sell of our house and all our belongings, we might be able to make this work."

Will snorted. "Don't be so dramatic, it's just a tree."

"A magic tree?" Nico asked. "A tree which is actually pure gold inside? Because that's my only explanation for this price."

"In all honesty, I would actually pay more for a tree which was _not_ magic." Will touched a branch of the tree gently, then withdrew his hand just as quickly. "You know, all things considered. But you're right; let's wait a while to get a real tree into the apartment. At least till I pay off the student loans and we buy that humongous carpet. That plastic thing we've got is sturdy enough for this year."

"Yippee," Nico deadpanned. "Another year with good old Kringles. I hate that old guy. His branches keep smacking me."

"Which is how we know he's still sturdy." Will sighed. "Another Christmas, another year with you, me and the devil Christmas tree. Next year," he said to the shopkeeper, an old man who they'd grown to know quite well the past few years, what with all the Christmas tree window shopping they did, "We'll actually buy a real tree and not just come to ogle."

"Hold you to your word?" The shopkeeper, a Mr. Samson asked.

"Eh." Will mulled it over. "Depends on the economy. Well, it's getting late. Merry Christmas."

"Saint O'Nicholason," Nico decided. He patted the branches of the tree in front of him. "That'll be his name."

"It sucks," Will informed him.

"You suck," Nico retorted.

The next Christmas, they did buy Saint O'Nicholason. Old Mr Kringles was carted off to Long Island Sound in their Prius, and lugged up Half Blood Hill, a task that was ridiculously difficult even for two reasonably strong twenty something year olds. Old Kringles proved his inherent dark magic and penchant for causing problems by rolling off the hill just as they neared the top and splintering into a million pieces on impact, plastic and fake leaves going everywhere.

"Oh," said Nico.

"Goodbye Mr Kringles!" Will hollered down the hill. "Ah, well there goes our old Christmas tree."

"He was an ass," Nico said fondly. "I miss him."

Will patted Thalia's old pine tree, sadly. "Ah, well, this place has no shortage of creepy old trees. Maybe the dark magic was just to combative for Kringles to handle."

"Roulette of the Trees," Nico offered.

Will kissed him. "Sounds festive. C'mon now, let's go say hi to Chiron."

* * *

 **3**

"Hey," Nico said as his boyfriend of three years rounded the corner to his cabin. He waved from the porch. "Merry Christmas."

Will kissed him, long and hard. "You too."

"Were you waiting for me to come to breakfast?" Nico asked. "You shouldn't have. You know I usually sleep in on holidays."

"You sleep in _everyday_ ," Will said. "And besides, it wasn't me who wants you at breakfast. It's Austin and Kayla."

Nico grinned. "Of course."

"What, I'm not kidding!" Will protested. "I reckon they've adopted you. But I mean, after you've won over the father…"

"Your Dad is easy," said Nico. "He's like a walking adoption agency. Now _my_ Dad. I got Hades to like me, so I really must be crushing at this game."

"It's the eyes," Will said. "You've got sympathetic eyes, like a little kid. People are more inclined to feel protective over you."

"Scientific opinion?"

"Nah," Will laughed. "Though—if I didn't see you chopping up the bad guys routinely, I'd feel very protective over you."

Nico cocked an eyebrow. "As opposed to?"

"Slightly worried, a little bit afraid. Mostly hot and bothered."

Nico smirked. "You're weak, Solace."

"Maybe so," admitted Will. "But I'm enjoying it, so really, who _is_ the loser? Hint: not me." Will paused. "As much as I love talking about how hot and bothered you get me, camp's Christmas breakfasts are the best thing about today, and I don't intend to miss it. And Kayla and Austin really _will_ have my head if I don't bring you. It's probably going to be our last proper Christmas in camp before the despair of the adult world kills us. So, maybe, let's go?"

Nico shrugged. "Fine by me."

Christmases in camp always began with a grand breakfast. That was a rule, as far as Nico could gleam. Then there was a small show put on, usually by Cabins Eleven and Twelve and then the Apollo kids lead a round of distorted carols which everyone joined in, regardless of whether they knew the lyrics or just made it up on the way; competitions were held, decorations were put up, decorations were stolen. They always ended, in Nico's case at least, snuggling with his boyfriend at the campfire.

"I'm going to miss this," Will said at the end of the day, when all the festivities had ended, and they were sat on the front steps to the Hades cabin. His eyes were suspiciously bright and he kept toying with his camp necklace, the one with eleven beads strung on to it.

Nico bumped his shoulder. "Aw, man, we'll visit."

"I guess," Will said. "But…it's still strange, knowing when summer rolls in next year we won't be coming up here as proper campers. They'll be college work to do, and my internship, and you're getting a _job_ …"

"It's a new life," Nico agreed. "But we're going to come here for Christmas still right? Everyone does."

Will didn't look up at him, but Nico saw him smile, nevertheless. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, we will. Every year, even when we can't recognise anybody but Chiron here, even when we're toothless and smelly."

"Then cheer up." Nico closed his eyes and leaned against his boyfriend. Will caved against him too. "It's Christmas dumbass, new beginnings and less tears."

* * *

 **2**

The Christmas after the Giant War had been what Nico gathered as "subdued". The regular year-rounders who did have family outside camp in one way or the other went home, and none of the summer campers made the routine Christmas drop in come the 25th . It was barely a handful at camp and there was no play, no competitions, no decoration stealing, no _decorations_.

Nico didn't mind. This meant he got time to himself, time to reflect and think and mull. And if that meant his mind strayed occasionally to darker things—to Tartarus and the 1930s and Bianca? Well, that was the price he'd have to pay for some quiet.

And so that's where Christmas evening found him, sprawled in the strawberry fields, gazing up at the stars. Incidentally, that was also where his boyfriend of roughly two weeks, and best friend of five months more found him. Will looked worried and had the familiar air of an overworked older sibling. Nico waved up at him. Will sighed.

"You know, you don't have to celebrate Christmas if you don't want to, but you've got to come to the campfire after." Will said, lying down next to him in the grass. "Well, you don't _have_ to if you don't want to, but usually, it's not missed. Your choice though, completely."

"Will," Nico said, and then found out that he couldn't say more. Will seemed to understand because he nodded.

"I get it," Will said; Nico didn't doubt it. He'd lost people too, friends and mothers and brothers and sisters. "Christmas is hard. The big celebrations are usually the hardest, when _they're_ supposed to be there with everyone else. You don't have to come if you don't want too. I won't make you."

Nico nodded. "But?"

"But it gets better." Will added quickly, like he had to defend this statement: "It does. It sucks at first, and it still smarts years after, but time stretches and your memory starts to fail and the ache dulls. You get more distance, and as horrible as it sounds, your waning memory makes room for other things. They'll be other Christmases. Better ones. Ones where there are more than sixteen of us at this camp, ones where there are no wars or deaths or spooky prophecies. There will be, Nico."

" _Will_ ," Nico said. "Breathe."

Will did. "Sorry," he said, absently tugging a blade of grass. "Let's not talk."

Nico didn't look at him as he spoke. "Let's go to the campfire."

"What?" Will sat up and stared at him.

"Those better Christmases," Nico said. He groaned as he pushed himself up. "The ones that smart but don't suffocate you. Let's go find one. Help Austin set up the instrument for the campfire."

"But now?" Will asked, voice hoarse. "Today?"

Nico shrugged. "They've got to start sometime."

* * *

 **1**

Christmas sucked.

This was definitely an stance not many people in camp seemed to have shared, judging by the preparations that had taken place during his short stay there a week back, but it didn't matter—Nico was the undisputed king of unpopular opinions, and this December had brought with it grief and disgust, and Jesus's stupid birthday.

It hadn't sucked before, at least he didn't think so. His time in the Lotus hotel was muddled up and everything before that was a huge blank, but he was sure that Christmas hadn't hurt this much then, had not stung and burned and ripped apart his heart. Christmas then had meant gifts and Mama and Papa and Bianca, warmth and family.

Christmas now meant death. It meant kidnapped goddesses and doomed quests and Titan generals, hurt boys and failed heroes and dead sisters.

Christmas meant days spent alone and cold and hurting.

Christmas meant loss. Christmas meant a dinner of French fries with the ghost of a dead king.

Nico cocooned himself into his aviator jacket. It was getting ridiculously cold now, and his mood was getting no better. Gods, he hated Christmas so much, and he hated Percy, and he hated Bianca—

 _Shush_ , he thought, and waited for Christmas to get over. He wondered, idly, if he'd ever move past this, associate December with anything else but death. If they'd ever be another Christmas where the hurt would not overwhelm him, if there would even be a Christmas next year, what with the war and the strife.

He wondered if he'd ever not hate Christmas again, if that was even possible, if it was already too late.

Sleep was ebbing at his consciousness now. In one last try to soothe the uneasiness in his stomach, Nico closed his eyes and prayed for better Christmases.


End file.
